


A Moment in the Life of Heather S. Palmer

by theimprobable1



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-07
Updated: 2011-10-07
Packaged: 2017-10-24 09:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimprobable1/pseuds/theimprobable1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/1249.html?thread=2336737&format=light#t2336737">this prompt</a>: <i>We've seen Martin desperately in love with OCs, but I'd like some OC that actually really loves Martin. Someone that misses him quite a bit when he's gone, notices his favorite things, watches airplane documentaries with him when Martin's feeling down, that sort of thing.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment in the Life of Heather S. Palmer

Heather sat at her kitchen table, staring at the pile of dishes in the sink without really seeing it. She should get up and wash them, but she just sat there and wondered how long the snow storm over central Europe could possibly last. Martin had been supposed to be home hours ago, and instead he was stuck in Prague for god knows how long. Well, more precisely, he’d supposed to be here _three days_ ago, but then Carolyn had changed the plan with some “short stops on the way home,” which apparently she did quite often, and as a result Martin and Heather hadn’t seen each other for ten days.

Which, strictly speaking, wasn’t really that long. Certainly not long enough to make her unable to do the dishes. She couldn’t just sit here and pine for him like a love-struck teenager. Not that she had ever actually pined for anyone before, in her teens or at any other time. She’d always thought that all this sighing for Mr Right wasn’t for her, that she just didn’t have a very romantic disposition, but apparently she did. She’d spent the majority of the last ten days thinking about Martin, about what he was likely to be doing at the moment, if he was thinking about her, if his flight was safe, if he would smile that incredibly cute smile and kiss her breathless when he came back. Martin obviously didn’t embody anyone’s idea of what a Mr Right should be like – he wasn’t exactly tall, dark and gorgeous, or anything along those lines. He was shorter than she was – not by much, but enough to make him self-conscious when she wore heels (she’d stopped wearing them a week after meeting him; they made her feet sore anyway) – and his ginger hair clashed horribly with his face when he blushed, which he did often, and he was far from having a glittering career. But. He was funny and caring and reliable and he needed her to take care of him, and he had these striking eyes and beautiful hands, and somehow everything about him seemed to awaken some deeply rooted instincts within her, and…

She was quite obviously utterly smitten. What was she going to do next? Scribble “Mrs Heather Crieff” all over every available piece of paper?

It did sound rather nice, though. Mrs Heather Crieff. _Hello, I’m Heather Crieff. Have you met my husband?_

She said it out loud. She actually said it out loud. Perhaps it was for the best that Martin wasn’t here yet – she had to do something with the fact that she was apparently fifteen years old deep down before he was back, or she was going to scare him off. And she really didn’t want that – she couldn’t imagine her life without him anymore.

Right. Enough of this sentimental nonsense. She was going to do the dishes and clean the kitchen, and she wasn’t going to think about Martin while she was doing it. She was going to think about… her mother’s birthday. Yes. It was next week, and she hadn’t decided on a gift yet.

And perhaps Mum’s birthday would be a good opportunity to introduce Martin to her. Or was it too early for that? She had met Carolyn, Douglas and Arthur, though, and they obviously counted as family for Martin, certainly more than his brother and sister who never even called him, so maybe…

There was a ring at the door. Heather dried her hands, sighing. It was probably Mrs Jones, wanting to borrow an egg or something. Why that woman was never able to do her shopping properly was a mystery.

It was most definitely not Mrs Jones.

“Hi,” Martin said, smiling a little sheepishly at her.

“Martin!” Heather exclaimed, and… well. She might have thrown herself at him. Sort of. A little. But there’s nothing wrong with being enthusiastic when greeting your boyfriend, is there? Martin certainly didn’t seem to mind.

“Why didn’t you text me?” she asked, grinning at him. “I thought you were still snowed in in Prague!”

“Douglas stole my phone,” Martin said, and there it was, the adorable blush creeping up his face. “He said I should surprise you. And I know I shouldn’t have listened to him, because I’m completely knackered right now and I’ll be no fun, so it’s a terrible surprise, and I…”

Heather kissed him to stop whatever long-winded apology Martin was getting started on.

“You don’t always have to be fun, you know,” she said, pulling him inside and taking his hat off. His hair stood up a little, and she just had to run her hand through it. He leaned into the touch. “And you’re a wonderful surprise.”

“I missed you,” Martin sighed, pulling her into a tight hug and burying his face in her shoulder. He was obviously tired. It called for a nice hot cup of tea, some food and a cuddle on the sofa. And that documentary about a small Californian airport that she’d recorded for him on Thursday. That would perk him up, he’d tell her about MJN’s latest shenanigans, and then there would be some kissing and they would move to the bedroom. She was looking forward to pampering him a little tonight.

“I missed you too.”


End file.
